


Goosebumps

by WrC



Series: HiJack Drabbles [4]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: First Meetings, HTTYD universe, M/M, invisible jack, pre-HTTYD 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrC/pseuds/WrC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing could have prepared Hiccup for what he saw when he opened the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goosebumps

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in a pre-httyd 1 setting. Dragons have not yet been tamed. I also went for a bit rough Viking culture; rougher than you would see in the movies. But I do feel such a culture is implied and I kinda like it. I hope you do too! :3

Music resounded through Berk’s great hall. Tomorrow, the brave and stubborn Viking man and women would set sail once again, looking for the Dragon Cove. Tomorrow, they would depart on a trip so dangerous you would have to be insane to try it, let alone more than once, in Hiccups humble opinion. But today they drank and ate, having an epic feast as blót sacrifice to Aegir, God of the Seas.

Hiccup rolled his eyes as Stoick held a most enthusiastic and devout speech, a mug of ale in one hand and a chicken-wing in his other. He was only here because he was the chief’s son anyway. Sitting at the back of the hall rather than the table of honour would have been much more to his liking. In the back, no-one would look at him. They wouldn’t stare at him and then at his father and back at him with this funny look in their eyes. It sucked. And if he’d been next to the door, he could have sneaked out a long time ago. But no, he was the blood of Stoick the Vast, so he better stay in his honoured seat till the very end.

With more than a little skepticism, the brunette looked over his shoulder at Aegir’s statue. It was one of the bigger statures in the hall, as the god of the seas was apparently one of the more important ones. Hiccup had never really believed there was such a thing as a God. Whoever thought that some high and mighty thing had a strong influence on his sea journey had probably been quite simple of mind. Seriously, every little thing had a god of its own. It was ridiculous. Of course there was more than the eye could see, Hiccup couldn’t deny that. Your soul went on to a better place when you died, and the spirits of long lost ancestors still looked over the tribe. Spirits at least had some sort of earthly origin; it was logical that they remained. But almighty Gods? No way.

In front of the statue stood a humongously large kettle, supported by mighty wooden beams. It was still largely filled with ale, meaning the blót was far, far from over. Stoick filled his mug again and toasted to Aegir. The others copied him wholeheartedly and Hiccup raised his mug along with the rest, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm. He didn’t like the taste of the stuff, even watered down, but he took a gulp nonetheless. Again, something with being the chief’s son.

A great deal of toasts, rough songs and bawdy jokes later, a sufficient number of Vikings had passed out and the feast was declared over. Most stumbled out of the great hall to their homes to get as much sleep as they could before their great and foolish adventure. Others could no longer walk down the great stone steps safely and remained on the benches, snoring contently. Hiccup sighed, relieved. He was finally allowed to go.

Sitting on Aegir’s shoulder, unnoticed by any of the partying men and woman, was a certain winter spirit. He’d observed the whole meal from the opening toast to the final song. He watched the brown-haired boy walk after his swaying giant of a father. The boy struggled for a bit to close the heavy doors on his way out and eventually gave up, leaving them slightly ajar. The winter spirit had to admit that was one tiny Viking, and he seemed awfully out of place here. The spirit - Jack - shrugged and hopped down, touching the ground without a sound. He peered into the kettle. It was empty.

Damn, these Vikings drink a lot.

And they sure got loud when they drank. Actually, they were always loud. And a bit smelly. And by Thor their music! It was awful! Jack had been in many places and heard many kinds of music, but theirs was the worst of all. All throaty sounds and rough notes, like Satan was dragging a screaming pig across the room towards its most unimaginably painful and unpleasant doom. And the pig somehow knew how bad it would be and was screaming accordingly.

But Jack still liked being here. When he sat atop that statue, it felt as if all the attention was directed at him. It was a bit weird… perhaps even creepy of him. But no-one could see him anyway. He often felt alone and without a purpose, but during these blóts he could pretend he was the centre of attention. He bathed in the toasts, the cheers and the happiness. That may be selfish, but it helped him through an otherwise long, lonely and cold life.

He grabbed a drumstick and took a bite. It tasted like nothing. Not bland or boring; it literally had no taste. As if being invisible wasn’t bad enough already. His hand went for a half-empty mug and he tentatively smelled it, then decided that was something he didn’t even want to taste. Then a grin tugged at his lips as he raised it high, imitating that big, bearded chief.

“We’ll get em this time! To Aegir!” The ale sloshed over the sides of his mug in a toast most Vikings would be proud of. He moved onto the next Viking imitation… when he got an idea. Those glimmering, colourfull shields on the wall had some pranking potential.

————————————————  
Hiccup lay in bed, stubbornly holding his eyes closed. He wanted to sleep. He had to sleep. He’d have to rise just as early as the rest of them to see the warriors off. But ale always made him feel queasy and sleep wouldn’t come. He cursed silently and slipped out of bed, crept across his room and listened at the top of the stairs. A loud snoring came from the living room. His dad had thankfully fallen asleep.

The brunette sneaked out the back-door, closing it as silently as possible. A cold breeze greeted him, blowing his hair in all directions. Thankfully, it was still a friendly pre-autumn breeze, not the kind of wind that will freeze your snot and turn your nose into an icicle. Just a bit chilly, not ice-cold. Yet. It a couple of weeks the god of winter, ‘Jokul Frosti’, would be roaming these parts, freezing the earth solid and covering the village in snow. This particular god wasn’t worshiped though; it didn’t even have a statue in the great hall. No-one wished for cold weather after all, so that was one stupid blót Hiccup didn’t have to worry about.

He decided to head for his workplace next to the forge. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well spends his time doing something useful. Not that the others had found anything he’d ever made ‘useful’… but they just didn’t understand. He just had to continue his work and one day they’d see.

Just as he crossed the stairs to the great hall, a shield came rolling down with one hell of a ruckus. The brunette stopped dead in his tracks and looked up, in doubt weather he should check it out. It was probably some drunk. Then another one came crashing down. The brunette swore under his breath as he trudged up the stairs.

Nothing could have ever prepared him for what he saw when he pushed the doors open. The hairs in his neck stood up and goosebumps crept up his arms and back. He saw a flying chicken. Now normally, a flying chicken wouldn’t be much of a shock. They could make quite a leap if you didn’t clip their wings. This one, however, had been plucked, seasoned, and roasted. And partially eaten. And it was… flying. With his mouth agape, he stared at the mysteriously floating mug of ale next to it. It looked just like Stoick was holding it, moving left and right, ale slushing. Only Stoick wasn’t here. His eyes then followed the direction the mug was pointing in and he saw the shields on the wall. They had been rearranged with some swords and axes to resemble a giant cock. Jup. There was a huge phallus on the wall with some fire-spewing dragons at the end of it.

Hiccup couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this floating chicken/mug combination was somehow responsible. Had the ale gotten to him after all? He closed his eyes and rubbed them till they stung, then opened them again. It was still there, only closer! He yelped and stumbled back. His clumsy feet tripped and he fell on his ass. Despite his shock and disbelief, he felt like the chicken was laughing at him. And he wasn’t far off. Dead chickens don’t laugh, but the one holding said chicken was almost crying tears of laughter.

Jack wasn’t going to deny it. Seeing expressions like these would never get old! And the face this small Viking had just made! Priceless! He wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes and dropped the chicken. The brunette was still staring at the mug of ale, not moving from his spot on the floor. Jack moved it around a bit, making spooky noises he knew the other couldn’t hear but were fun to add anyway. Hiccup’s eyes followed the mug, his mouth opening and closing, doing a striking imitation of a fish on dry land. Jack got closer and extended his finger. Of course his hand would go right through, but he was too much caught in the moment to think of that. He just had to boop this cute guy’s nose.

“Boop”.

Jack’s finger connected with Hiccup’s nose. They both though the exact same thing at the exact same moment, albeit in different wording. They spoke a different language after all. The general gist, however, was this: HOLY MOTHER OF GODS AND SPIRITS WHAT THE ACTUAL FLYING FUCK. Hiccup had just been touched by an invisible thing. On his nose. A spirit had booped his nose. Suffice it to say that his belief in spirits was strengthened quite a bit. Jack, meanwhile, had touched someone, which was something he hadn’t done in nothing short of a hundred years! His hand hadn’t gone through this boy, like it did with everybody else! His skin had stopped against skin! TOUCHING!

Jack jumped back with an unheard scream that was a mixture of shock, disbelief, and excitement. Hiccup produced the same sound, only audible. The touch had snapped him out of his mug-following trance and he jumped to his feet, bolting for the door. The winter spirit, had no intention of letting him run away though. By all that was holy, he was able to touch this guy! His hand shot out and grabbed hold of the little Viking’s arm.

A sudden fear took hold of Hiccup. The spirit was grabbing him! He struggled and was torn between yelling or not. Yelling for help might scare the spirit… but then he wouldn’t be able to explain why he’d yelled and everyone would shun him even more.

Meanwhile Jack was having trouble holding on. This little Viking was stronger than he looked, and the spirit was desperately trying not to harm him. He didn’t want to hurt the boy, but he didn’t want him to run away either, afraid he’d never get a chance like this again.

Hiccup continued struggling and bumped into a table. His hand felt behind him and grabbed hold of the first object it found. With all his might, he swung at what he hoped was the location of the spirit. His guess was correct. Jack got hit in the head with a clay plate, mushy vegetables and gravy smudging his face. He let go and Hiccup sprinted out the hall, his assailant right on his tail. The Viking slipped through the door and ran down the stairs. His heart was racing like crazy. After just a few steps, he tripped over a root. He toppled forward and yelped. This was a long way down, with lots and lots big, hard, stone steps. This was going to hurt. Badly.

Suddenly, something grabbed hold of him from behind. Two lean arms wrapped around him and pulled. With a little help from a strong gust of wind, they fell backwards, landing on their asses rather ungracefully.

“Thor’s beard”. Hiccup muttered, glad he wasn’t tumbling down the stairs. Then he realized who must be holding him.

Jack noticed the boy in his arms tense, and he released his hold a bit, mumbling an apology. He didn’t let go completely though.

It dawned on the brown haired viking that this spirit, whoever or whatever it was, probably meant no harm. So far it had only booped his nose. And even after he’d hit it with a plate, it’d still saved him. His fear of the spirit subsided and he got curious rather than afraid. He couldn’t think of any ancestor that would boop your nose, unless it was with an axe, or rearrange shields in the form of a penis. This spirit really was a mystery. So he did the only logical thing. He introduced himself.

“Hi. I’m Hiccup.” He said rather insecure. This felt so stupid, and yet…

“Hello, Hiccup. I’m Jack.”

The brunette could feel breath on his neck and for the second time that evening, he got goosebumps all over. The spirit was talking! Hiccup just couldn’t hear it. Still, this was amazing!

“I can’t hear you, but… Thank you.” He felt the spirit’s mouth against his back. It - no, he - was grinning from ear to ear. Hiccup relaxed a bit more and smiled. “You made quite a mess of our great hall, didn’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> I did a quick google search on Viking customs to add some realism here. I don't expect it to be fully 100% historically accurate, so please don't kill me if I have anything wrong XD
> 
> Some trivia that I used and/or came across:  
> \- Vikings followed a Norse Pagan religion (worshipping multiple gods).  
> \- It is understood that some sort of ancestor worship was probably an element of private religious practices of the farmstead and vllage.  
> \- Aegir was the Viking God of the Seas. The big kettle of ale is a reference to his main myth in Norse mythology.  
> \- Blót (Old Norse: blōtą “sacrifice, worship”) was a Norse pagan sacrifice to the Norse gods and spirits of the land. This was often in the form of a sacremental meal or feast.  
> \- An Arab merchant visiting Denmark in the 10th century described Viking music like this: "Never before I have heard uglier songs than those of the Vikings in Slesvig (in Denmark). The growling sound coming from their throats reminded me of dogs howling, only more untamed." Little is actually known about their music.
> 
> If you love the idea of an invisible Jack that can only touch Hiccup, be sure to check out 'Touching' by AvatarMN and 'Touch' by hallucogenic (they're in my bookmarks)!


End file.
